Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Okay.”
“But here’s what happened,” she stated, and I knew she had to tell me. Had. To. Her irritation was bubbling over, and she had to vent; she needed someone to hear her and commiserate, and that, more than all her words put together, settled me in my skin. “He woke up when we hooked up his IV, and he then proceeded to tell me the bullet had to be lodged in the back of his vest, which, of course”—her voice went thin—“it was.”
I could imagine her wanting to strangle my husband right there in the middle of the ER.
“He went on to explain how much blood he thought he lost, but assured me that wasn’t a huge deal, and since we didn’t have to do any exploratory surgery, as the bullet wasn’t in him anymore, if I could just do an MRI to make sure it didn’t nick anything important on the way in or out, then he’d like to get sewn up, perhaps bandaged, and then we could just send him on home.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. The relief was too great.
“As though there’s anything not important that a bullet could nick on its way in or out of your body,” she nearly snarled.
Leave it to Sam to annoy a perfectly rational and kind trauma surgeon.
“I told him I thought he might be having an aneurysm, and he told my nurse to check my breath because I might be drinking on the job.”
Oh dear God.
“I then informed him I was going to call for a psych eval, at which point he assured me all accusations that a marshal is not fit for duty are taken seriously, and are fully investigated by the Office of Professional Responsibility. He went on to state that if I wanted to pursue that course of action, I needed to first contact the office of Tom Kenwood, US marshal of the Northern District of Illinois, because he was the only person who could authorize me, and my hospital, to begin a psychological evaluation of the chief deputy.”
I could only imagine how cold and dark Sam’s voice had been when he told her all that. He had never, ever, been the guy you wanted to threaten, especially with something that could potentially strip him of his freedom and his career. Because yes, on the surface it was basic, but underneath, his freedom allowed him to be with his family, and his job provided for that family. She had endangered both with her angry words.
“He can get a bit mean if you corner him,” I offered in explanation. He had been an ass, but he’d been shot and beaten and also saved people, so he could be given some slack. By the same token, he’d been telling an ER doctor how to do her job, and that was uncalled for. She had probably been there for hours before they rolled in a man who could try the patience of a saint. I could see both sides quite clearly.
“I broke down and yelled at him, Mr. Harcourt. I told him he was seriously hurt and I needed him to understand that and act accordingly!”
She had lost it in the middle of her own ER. Of course she wanted to murder him.
“And then?” I was almost afraid to ask.
“Well then, because he knew he had me, he smiled and nodded and said of course he understood, and he’d be all about following orders.”
“I can assure you he wasn’t patronizing you because you’re a woman.”
“Oh no, I understand that. He was just as dismissive with Dr. Liddell, our head of internal medicine, when he came to speak to him.”
Sam treated women, men, and everyone else exactly the same. If he thought he knew best, you were simply wallpaper, there to be ignored.
“This is why I’m stressing aftercare with you,” she explained curtly. “He needs to allow his body the time to fully heal.”
“Of course. How long do you want to keep him?”
“Again, I’d prefer that he stay seven to ten days,” she replied, exhaling. “I strongly advise seven, and hope for five.”
“But Dr. Liddell is the one overseeing his care now, correct?”
“Yes,” she told me sadly. “And I suspect when your husband tells our chief that he’s ready to leave, he will be discharged.”
I would have liked to promise her right there and then he would stay all the days she wanted, as many as she wanted, but it would depend on what he looked like when I walked into the recovery room. Everything hinged on that. The last time I had gone to see Sam in the hospital was years ago, and he had looked so much smaller than normal. He’d been gray lying there in the bed, and appeared frail. I would know when I saw him how long his convalescence would be.